


The Hardest Part

by naienko



Series: The Hardest Part [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naienko/pseuds/naienko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a bridge between two worlds is difficult when one of them is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Part

**Author's Note:**

> This vignette appears at a specific point in the movie, which viewers will recognise. Also inspired by events in the author's life, being partnered to one who is Vulcan-like in emotional expression.

Gone.

_She_ was gone.

A breath, a moment of silence - the odd, buzzing, not-quite-silence of transport - _she_ was there, right there ... gone. Had that been _her_ , or the planet, screaming?

No one's eyes met. Chekov was pale, bloodless pale. One miracle he could pull off, but not two, not in a matter of minutes. Who could? _She_ , surely _she_ ... but, gone.

No one spoke. Not Sarek. Not even Kirk, shocked silent Kirk. What quip, what flashing wit, could break this silence? _She_ , surely _she_ ... but, gone.

_She_ was gone. Irrevocably, utterly.

Gone.

He fled.

\--

He fled down the brilliant corridors of the Enterprise, back to logic, back to control. Back to duty. No solace now for he, but only refuge in the chill, emotionless pathways familiar enough to come without conscious thought. Time for grief later. Time for tears, time for guilt, time for pain.

Now, duty.

'Acting Captain's log, stardate 2258.42. We have had no word ... Nero, who has destroyed my home planet, and most of its six billion inhabitants. ... I estimate no more than ten thousand have survived. I am now a member of an endangered species.'

Bloodless words, to capture the destruction of an entire planet. The ache of grief unspoken pressed against his throat. Control.

Duty.

What solace, control, against pain of this magnitude? Bad enough, _her_ , before his eyes, falling away from his reaching hand. Bad enough, knowing, every time he met Sarek's eyes, if he had been just that little bit faster, thought that one moment ahead, that one breath sooner ... but, gone. Too late. Now, and always, too late.

What solace, duty, against the loss of ... of everything? Where did /anyone/ find the words to hold this, to bring it under control, to /comprehend/? He ... felt. A vast blackness, not dissimilar to that which engulfed his home, his heart ... _her_.

Had his choice to cleave to his Vulcan heritage done this, caused this loss? No. Illogical. No single being's choices could hope to have so much effect on the vastness of the universe. And yet, in choosing his Vulcan heritage as much as he did, had _she_ felt he valued _her_ less ... loved _her_ less? No! Again, illogical.

Human.

How did Humans grieve? Surely not always with wailing or violent anguish? Her serenity could never encompass such a thing. Surely, somewhere in his Human heritage there was some pathway to release, without loss of control?

Duty turned to ashes in his mouth, and the near silence of the bridge became overwhelming. Away. He had to get away. Before he ... Before.

He fled, blindly palming the lift's controls, uncaring of where it might take him, only away. The faint click of heels brought enough awareness to the surface to recognise Nyota, her glance daring him to object.

Object? Only hard-won Vulcan control held his arms from around her, even as his eyes and hers met. She stopped the lift, tears shimmering in her eyes, her Human eyes. Would this be how _she_ cried? Silently, heartbreakingly?

"I'm sorry," Nyota whispered, compassion aching in her vibrant voice. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He could hear all the tears he could not shed, a world of tears, a universe of grief. The pressure of her hands at the base of his skull told mercy, told agony for him. She pressed her mouth to his, not in familiar passion, but unfamiliar pain, brushing further kisses along his jaw until she could pull his head down to her shoulder.

His eyes slipped shut, her grief releasing his own. He could not cry, but Nyota's tears could carry them both. Folding his arms around her, he let his head drop to her shoulder, allowing his own to slump.

Briefly, only briefly. It was enough. Grief shared became grief lessened, as Humans claimed.

"What do you need? Tell me," she breathed in his ear, "tell me."

He held her for just a moment, just one moment, and gave duty over for that time, and it was enough. Her compassion could carry him, until it was over, and he could let go. For now ... for now, he would hold on. Hold on to duty. Hold on to control.

Gazing into Nyota's eyes, her Human eyes, like and unlike _her_ eyes, he touched the lift back on. He said, "I need everyone ... to continue performing admirably."

She would know what he meant. The Human women in his life ... they had both, always, known what went unsaid. Nyota would hold his Human side, until there was time. Her nod, jerky, full of anguish, told him so. Spock bent, and kissed Nyota, as she reached for him. Just this one last moment of Humanity ...

Spock squared his shoulders. Control. Duty. Love.

He stepped off the lift.


End file.
